


Inconvenient Fireworks

by taketheblanket



Series: Landsailor x Cloudraker [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: BDSM themes, Dom Ignis, Dom/sub, Exhibitionism, Ignis origin story, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Oral Sex, Orphan Ignis, Penetrative Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Promnis with a side of GladNoct, Sex Toys, This fic uses "pussy" and "cunt" for a transmale character, Trans Prompto, Under-negotiated Kink, game canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-05 16:38:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14622789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taketheblanket/pseuds/taketheblanket
Summary: Ignis has to come to terms with the fact that he is falling in love with Prompto amongst the chaos of Noct's difficult journey. When Gladio hints at Noct's depression, Ignis considers the role new love has played in their success so far. Wanting more from his boyfriend, Prompto takes matters into his own hands.





	Inconvenient Fireworks

**Author's Note:**

> This is a re-upload. I don't have any plans to take it down again, but if you love it, not a bad idea to DL. Again, this is a re-upload. Please don't yell at me. 
> 
> Read the tags and enjoy!

“Why do they keep getting stronger?” Noctis laments, slumped in one of the dusty plastic chair outside of Wiz’s caravan. He stares at his fingertips, the last glowing remnants of red resurrection finally leaving his form. 

“Because they haven’t stopped you yet, Noct,” Gladio says, settling into the plastic chair beside him. The flimsy furniture groans beneath his weight. “Though today they got close.”

“Certainly,” Ignis concurs. “And they will continue to increase their offense, until they manage to do so.”

“Ominous,” Prompto says. “The roads hardly seem safe for us anymore.”

“I must assume we are rather eye catching on Chocobo.” 

“The longer it takes us to get to Altissia, the stronger they will be,” Gladio says.

“We can’t go to Altissia yet,” Noct says with a familiar frustration discussion of war and politics brings. After a pause, his voices softens with the relief of having an excuse for postponement. “I gotta collect these Arms.” 

“Indeed you do,” Ignis says. Settling into in a seat across the table from His Majesty. He pulls out his notebook, flips past pages of recipes, Noct’s catches, Gladio’s finds, lists of supplies purchased, traded, sold, to locate the page on which he logs recent assassination attempts. This last one was less than a quarter mile from where they’ve been staying at the Chocobo Post. They’ve remained in one place for too long. 

“We should head West. We can comb the land for tombs on the way, replenish our supplies when we reach Lestallum. But first, we should complete a hunt for Wiz tomorrow,” Ignis tells them. “Replenish the gil we wasted on that Phoenix Down.”

“Wasted?!” Noctis snaps. “It’s not my fault those freaks can turn their spines around! Where were  _ you  _ guys when I was getting my guts scrambled?”

“Similarly attempting to avoid disembowelment,” Ignis says plainly. 

“Yeah, only we were successful,” Prompto teases, shoving Noct and earning a solid push back that tips Prompto backwards in his chair and forces him to jump as the lightweight furniture falls bouncing across the dirt. 

“You guys fucking suck,” Noctis groans. 

“Relax,” Gladio says. “No one was gonna let you die. Try some gratitude instead.” 

Noctis only grumbles. 

“Hey, come with me,” Prompto says, nudging Noct gently once he’s set right the chair. “I’m gonna go feed the baby birds!” 

Noctis swats him away. 

“Later,” he says. “I’m drained.”

“But they feed them at four! Ah well,” he says, shoving off alone. “You snooze you lose.” 

Prompto trots off, looking through the viewfinder, waving at a stable hand that gestures in his direction. Ignis watches him until he disappears from view and then he turns back to his notebook, occasionally glancing at His Majesty over the edge while he writes.  

Still quick to anger, Noctis has at least begun to take some faculty of his responsibilities, albeit with reluctance. Regardless, Ignis is forced to recognize his growing strength. Noctis cultivates an impressive arsenal of royal arms and astral deities. As a group, communication continues to improve, both on and off the battlefield. The numbers on the page don’t lie. They are neutralizing hostile forces faster and more efficiently, more damage delivered, less sustained.  _ When they’re focused, _ Ignis thinks, making note of the Phoenix Down they used on the King in the latest assault. Ignis watches as Noctis lays his head on his arms, folded on the dusty surface of the picnic table. His Majesty closes his eyes. 

From that fated morning in Galdin Quay, Ignis has been aware of the hopelessness of their situation. When Ignis looks at Gladio, the Shield has already been looking at him, watching him notate thoughtfully. Gladio always looks like he is brimming with both concern and content in a way that makes him difficult for Ignis to read. The few times he turned to Gladio for his opinion, the Shield offered advice along the lines of “we stay by his side,” and “take it one day at a time,” the first sentiment impossible to promise and the second one nearly offensive in its suggestion. The odds were too poor, the trauma too grand, the complications too many.  

And yet... they’ve made it this far, and it seems likely they will make it further. Ignis looks away from Gladio to study the page once more; _the numbers don’t lie._  

However, asleep at once upon the tabletop, it is apparent that Noctis is dangerously stressed.  _ Rightly so,  _ Ignis thinks, but still a concern. Pressure makes the King unpredictable. Compartmentalization leads to combustibility. Gladio looks away from Ignis to watch him, reaches out and strokes Noct between his shoulder blades. In his slumber, he doesn’t push Gladio away. 

Ignis studies the soft expression on Gladio’s face while he pets Noctis, watches his edge dull. As His Majesty’s Shield, Gladio’s goal is simple: moment-by-moment, protect the King. Turning back to his math, Ignis muses that he isn’t afforded the same luxury. There had been a sweet sort of relief in accepting the futility of their situation. Now, his careful data-logging and tactical strategizing are no longer a simple occupation for long, turbulent days on the run. As their strength as a Crownsguard grows, so do their chances of succeeding on the mission King Regis had entrusted to them. It means more work to be done, it means more thoughtful planning, statistical processing, careful consideration, all Ignis’ responsibilities, entirely Ignis’ duty to ensure. 

He flips the page. 

There is something else, too. Not only a renewed vigor for their great undertaking, but a different sort of sensation gnawing in the back of his mind... 

And though it encourages progress, Ignis finds its presence uncomfortable. Difficult to name and impossible to ignore blooms an inconvenient hopefulness for a life beyond this war, back in Insomnia, with Noctis on the throne, Gladio beside him, and Prompto... _well_.   

The desire to daydream is so jarringly unwelcome amidst a situation that requires his full and present attention that just a passing thought of a city-flat filled with exotic potted flora, a pretty yellow bird chittering atop its cage, feels like a violent intrusion to Ignis, and he finds himself dry-mouthed and head spinning within seconds of indulging the fantasies. 

He precisely dates the top and numbers the bottom corners of the blank page and then is left staring down at his notebook, unsure of exactly what he what he plans to record.

Despite their recent evolution as a team, it changes not the dangers of darting back and forth across the front lines of a deadly war that only seems to promise disappointment. They have, at best, a hazy understanding of their opponent’s power, they have yet to connect with the Oracle, the fate of the Crown City still utterly unknown. For not the first time, Ignis begins to sketch a map of Eos from memory, leaving light roads they have not yet driven, hashing dark lines through those they have. There are almost too many possible directions on the nebulous journey ahead. He knows without doubt that both information and infidels are promised past any point on the floral four-pointed compass he draws in the corner of the map. 

His boyfriend’s whistling precedes him as he returns to the group.  

“Look what Wiz gave me!” Prompto says. He stands beside the table and holds a circular patch, a yellow bird in the center, the words _Wiz’s Chocobo Post_ stitched around the outer edge. He spins around and brings it to an open space on the back of his vest. “Didn’t even charge me for it, said I’m always so helpful!”  

Noctis yawns awake. Gladio lowers his book to study the patch. 

“I’ll put it on my vest and then Chocobos will always be with us!” Prompto says resolutely. 

Ignis watches Prompto shrug out of his denim jacket— well, _vest._ It _had_ been a jacket, until he and Noctis had managed ten minutes alone in the workshop and Prompto took a pair of fabric shears to his custom-made Fatigues. Ignis has almost fainted when he witnessed the carnage, but Noctis was laughing and Prompto looked so _thrilled_ with his modifications that Ignis didn’t have the heart to tell him exactly how much money he had (unintentionally) wasted. It would have spoiled the mood.   

“You’re going to be cold,” Ignis had warned him.  

“Nah, I always run hot!” he excused away. 

Later that day, Ignis directed the tailor to simply change the design of Prompto’s second jacket to a vest so this time they needn’t waste the labor or supplies.  

Prompto hangs his vest on the back of a chair and drops into a squat so he may be on its level. Ignis watches as one gloved hand smooths the denim, the naked fingers of his other hand thoughtfully positioning the patch. His hands are always busy, always moving, always catching his eye. 

Three months and what feels like several lifetimes later, Ignis can confirm that Prompto does, indeed,  _ run hot _ . 

“I gotta figure out how to attach it though,” he says, squinting down at the back of the patch. ”I usually use the iron-on kind.”  

“I can secure it for you,” Ignis tells him. Prompto has already defiled his fatigues with patches and studs; he sees no harm in another accessory. He lays his pen inside of his notebook and sets it aside so he may retrieve a needle and thread from his supplies. When he returns to the table, Prompto dramatically blocks his path to his vest, stopping Ignis with both of those hot hands pressed against his chest, his lower lip caught between his teeth.  

“Nuh-uh, no sir,” Prompto says, shaking his head. “I want to do it myself!” 

Ignis is rendered immobile, frozen in place once more by that _feeling_ … a swelling in his chest, a kicking of his heart, covetous affection, inconvenient fireworks… 

Prompto drags his hands a few inches down Ignis’ chest, along the path of his suspenders. Ignis is studying him so closely he can track Prompto’s eyes as they trail down his jawline and neck, dip beneath the open collar of his shirt. 

”You can teach me how, though,” he announces cheekily, smiling as he spins away from Ignis and grabs his vest from the chair back. He all but plops into the chair beside His Majesty, intentionally bumping into him as he does. 

Ignis stares down at Prompto dumbly, the thought unwelcome but inescapable as it takes root in his mind. 

_I simply could not have anticipated, someone like this..._  

“Very well,” Ignis says, regaining his composure after a few deep breaths. He comes to stand behind him at the table and leaning over his boyfriend, Ignis puts the needle in one of his hands and the spool of thread in the other. “Are you sure you’re in the mood for a sewing lesson?”  

“I like to learn! And you’re the best teacher I know, Iggy,” Prompto says. He sticks his tongue out in concentration as he passes the thread through the needle’s eye. “You’ve taught me all sorts of things.” 

Gladio and Noctis snort a few times each before they erupt into proper laughter. Prompto gasps as the innuendo dawns. 

_...to fall for someone like him… someone that cuts the sleeves off his jackets, speaks before he thinks.  _

Ignis tuts and Prompto looks up at him, his face bright red with embarrassment, but his violet eyes twinkling sharply in the shadow Ignis casts over him. Gladio and Noctis are still laughing to themselves as Ignis closes the distance between them. Prompto mewls in surprise against his lips. 

“I’m going to teach you everything,” he says when he pulls away. He says it softly, just for him.  

Prompto listens closely while Ignis shows him the stitch. He gets it right on the first try and dismisses him with a thank you and an enthusiastic wave of his hand. Ignis returns to his own seat, opens his notebook once more, but instead of writing he watches Prompto’s fingers while he works, waits to see if he will miss a loop. So far no slip-ups and yet every time Prompto passes the needle through the fabric, Ignis takes a breath, a quiet dread mounting. 

_ There was no way to have anticipate this,  _ he tries to tell himself.  _ Nothing you could have done to prepare... _

If the mantra helps, its results are minute. Vertigo takes him as understanding materializes. In an attempt to distract himself from _the word_ _itself_ , Ignis begins to jot down estimated miles traveled by Chocobo in the last week, but looking at the word _Chocobo_ triggers the broken record of Prompto’s singing that plays in his mind. Ignis thinks if he’s not careful, he’ll find himself humming the tune before long. 

Not to mention that as someone who prides himself on posture and poise, Ignis finds his boyfriend’s constant motion distracting. Prompto can remain in one position for no longer than a minute. He fidgets while he sews, he bounces his feet, he sits, stands, sits and stands again. When he finishes securing the patch, he shows Gladio and Noctis who lower their book and phone respectively to admire his handiwork on the vest. 

Ignis tries to focus on the numbers on the page, but he repeatedly finds himself pressing his pen in the one place, bleeding black ink into the parchment. Wherever Prompto goes, Ignis must track him with his eyes, unable to look away from him lest he begin to glint in his peripheral vision like a treasure catching the sunlight, calling to be collected. 

As if he felt Ignis’ longing, Prompto glides over to him, laying a hand on his shoulder and kissing his cheek just beneath his frames. He looks down at Ignis’ notebook and begins to hum the melody that has yet to stop ricocheting through his skull. Ignis shuts his eyes against a burst of pain in behind his temple, probably triggered by the stress of planning a King’s war, or possibly the disorientation of being blindsided by the King’s best friend.

With his eyes shut, he listens to Prompto lift his camera from the table, flip through his photos. Prompto sighs, “it’s nice to not have to kill anything.” He walks behind Ignis and touches his neck lightly. He trots to Gladio and they chuckle about a combat shot from that afternoon. Ignis listens to Noctis push the camera away. Prompto laughs his protest and skips away from Noctis, his boots crunching in the dirt. The chair squeaks when Prompto sits. It shifts when he stands. He sits on the table. He leans on the wall. He hums  _ The Chocobo Song  _ once more. The sound of Prompto’s flitting about consumes him, and for a few moments, Ignis doesn’t resist. 

_ I cannot be sure what is more overwhelming, _ he thinks to himself, behind the privacy of his shut eyes.  _ Falling in love with him amidst the perils of war, or the simple fact that he won’t sit still.  _

 

\---

 

Wiz asks them to take out a hive of Killer Bees a few miles north of the racetrack. At Prompto’s request, they take the Chocobos out one last time. Though the car would be faster, Ignis wasn’t able to say no to his pleading expression, the sorrowful way he pointed at the new patch on his vest. Upon his concession, Prompto’s face broke into such a sunny grin, Ignis had to realize he’d been played. 

Still, he likes the way Prompto looks in the saddle, so he does not complain. 

Killer Bees aren’t a particularly difficult hunt, but they keep them on their toes. Noctis and Prompto pick the giant insects out of the sky and Gladio and Ignis finish them from the ground. 

The arrangement makes for a complicated post-battle inventory. As Gladio and Noctis argue about their kill-counts, the young King emphatically points at a insect corpse, claiming it as his own, and Gladio shakes his head in disagreement. With every shade darker Noct’s red face becomes, Gladio’s laughter simply grows louder.

“You’re never gonna beat me, Princess. Thought you’d know that by now.”  

Noct tears a poisonous stinger from one  anthophila and hurls it in Gladio’s direction. Gladio narrowly dodges the assault, and his face shifts from glee to anger. Before Ignis is able to interrupt, Prompto leans over to him, lays a hand on his bicep and whispers in his ear. 

“Hey Captain,” he says. 

Ignis turns to look at the young man, vibrating with a post-battle high. He has been using the affectionate moniker more and more often. Ignis has grown quite fond of the title and the way Prompto says it usually sends his blood South. 

“Think we can… find some alone time this afternoon? I want to cum for you.”

His violet eyes flicker hopefully while he waits for Ignis’ decision. Ignis rarely says no when Prompto makes this request. He isn’t particularly unreasonable, but Ignis is not ignorant to the fact that his desires are more frequent, his confidence blooming.

Though they are relatively close in age, Prompto is the youngest person Ignis has ever dated. There is a selfish thrill in being the experienced one this time around, a sweet gratitude in the participation of Prompto’s awakening. Prompto had been an utter virgin until recently. Deflowering him will always remain a treasure in Ignis’ heart. More than just a first experience of intercourse, but Ignis owns Prompto’s first kiss and his first orgasm too. Every time he thinks about it, the fire in his belly sparks to roaring life, kindled by the knowledge there is still more to take.  

Watching Prompto develop as a sensual being is enchanting. For the first few weeks, he waited for Ignis to make every move, but the past few days the Advisor feels like he’s been noticing a boldness about him. He flirts throughout the day, winking at Ignis from across the car, making eye contact during dinner, his beer pressed to his lips. Every suggestion from him makes Ignis burn, his hair stand up, his pants snug. Never have Ignis’ thoughts so frequently drifted towards sex. He can’t exactly pin what makes his hunger for Prompto so much more intense than he’s felt in the past, but he figures if he keeps watching him, eventually he’ll figure it out.  

 _Probably,_ Ignis muses to himself, _because I’ve never been in love before._  

Staring into each other’s eyes, it’s easy to forget where he is, or what he’s doing. On the outskirts of his periphery, a storm is brewing, but for the moment, all Ignis can see are purple skies.  

_ Fool.  _

“Fuck this,” Noct suddenly spews, wheeling away from Gladio and storming in their direction. 

He never forgets for long, however.  

Noctis grabs Prompto by the bicep and drags him away from the sight of the hunt. Prompto follows, patting Noct on the back in an attempt to calm him down and blowing a kiss at Ignis over his shoulder as he goes. 

His past relationships never lasted, time and again citing that Ignis was too occupied by his job.  _ How convenient it is, _ he thinks while he watches Prompto work to cheer Noct up,  _ to find someone with the same exact attachment.  _ With their right hands constantly hovering above their weapons in Noctis’ name, they’ve found their left hands free for each other. 

 

\---

 

They drive for much of the day. Noctis and Gladio sleep for most of the ride, which makes Ignis wonder exactly what is keeping the two of them awake at night. He hopes, at least, they are being smart when they sneak away from the tent at night.  

Prompto leans across the center console, rests a hand on Ignis’ thigh. They won’t make the trip to Lestallum in one day anyway and by the mid-afternoon, he decides he’s had enough driving. He pulls the Regalia down a dirt road, jostling the King and his Shield awake as they come to a stop beside a tree-lined haven. 

“You two set up camp,” Ignis says. 

He watches Gladio and Noctis make eyes at each other through the rearview mirror as Ignis raises the top on the convertible. There are only two reasons Ignis puts the top up. 

“Doesn’t look like rain,” His Highness notes aloud. 

“We’ll catch up with you,” Ignis dismisses. 

Gladio snorts, grabbing Noct by the bicep and hauling him from the backseat.  

Prompto and Ignis exit the Regalia on opposite sides, take two steps, and re-enter the car’s backseat. The doors shut and Ignis locks them inside the privacy of tinted windows with a satisfying ‘click.’ They look at each other for a moment and then Prompto launches himself at Ignis, arms encircling his neck, lips eager but cautious. Ignis smiles softly against the kiss before giving Prompto what he wants. He lays his hands on Prompto’s hips, presses his tongue into his mouth. 

The smaller man whines, scooting across the seat towards Ignis, asking more of him with his needy hands, his halting breaths, his urgent tongue. Ignis chuckles, pats him on the thigh and Prompto obediently pulls away, violet eyes wide and locked on Ignis’ face. 

“Eager, are we?”

“I’ve been keyed up all day,” Prompto answers. “I like watching you fight. You look sexy with those daggers in your hands. Sometimes I fantasize about you touching me right there, right where we won.” 

Ignis hums through a soft smile, gives a gentle tug to the front of Prompto’s denim vest. 

“Take this off,” he says.  

He frantically shrugs out of his studded vest, and Ignis pops open the fly of Prompto’s jeans, dragging the zipper down while Prompto groans softly under his breath, watches Ignis with eager eyes. 

“Shoes too,” Ignis says when Prompto hands him the vest. He flips the garment inside out, inspects the sewing job Prompto did on his Chocobo patch. While Ignis himself would have never made such modifications to an item of clothing, he can appreciate Prompto’s perfect execution with selfish pride. 

He lays the vest down on the leather upholstery between them.  _ Something  _ would have to be sacrificed, and Ignis prefers the gunslinger in his tank top, anyway. 

“Hands and knees, lover.”

“Oh,” Prompto breathes, before scrambling onto the seat and getting into position. His loosened jeans reveal a tantalizing glimpse of ass crack, and Ignis peels them down over his gorgeous round ass. Prompto is watching him over his shoulder and presents himself to Ignis, turning his cunt up towards the other man, already glistening with desire.  

“Very good,” he praises in a low voice that reveals his arousal. Prompto’s obedience always makes his cock hard.

Prompto is already dripping slick onto the leather upholstery; Ignis slides the vest beneath him. He lets his eyes slowly rake over Prompto’s pale ass, his pink cunt and then over his shoulder to his face, to appreciate his bright lilac eyes and red freckled cheeks. 

“So lovely like this,” Ignis tells him. 

“You always seem to like it,” Prompto answers a little cheekily, studying the shape of Ignis’ cock as it stiffens down the leg of his slacks. 

He chuckles fondly, brings a hand up to squeeze one half of Prompto’s bare ass. He pushes back into his touch, his head falling between his shoulders with a sigh. His opening flutters eagerly, another bead of arousal dripping down his short cock, catching in the rich golden hair between his thighs. 

Ignis goes to remove his glasses, but something catches his eye out the window before he does. At the Haven, ten yards away, Gladio and Noctis have only managed to set up a single piece of furniture. In the middle of the haven sits a solo canvas chair which His Highness currently occupies. His Shield squats between his legs, head bobbing in his lap. Ignis watches Noct lazily gaze up at the blue sky as he brings a hand to rest on the back of Gladio’s skull. 

“Look,” Ignis tells Prompto, folding his glasses and setting them aside before he gestures out the window. Prompto lifts his head and peers through the tinted glass, locates the unmistakable scene of Gladio sucking Noctis off. 

“Whoa…” he says. 

Ignis licks him, cock to asshole. 

Prompto cries out, pressing back into him, his cunt already trying to swallow his tongue. He whimpers sweetly and Ignis gives the good boy exactly what he wants. Leaning face first into Prompto’s wet heat, he penetrates him, probing him deeply. Prompto’s thighs quiver and he sighs in relief. Ignis drinks up his flavor, that forbidden juice Prompto offers him so generously. He wraps his tongue around Prompto’s hard cock, strokes him into his mouth, feels how slick and swollen his boyfriend is already. For several minutes, Ignis sucks at the tender skin of Prompto’s ass, his inner thighs. When Prompto begins to shake in earnest Ignis pulls back to admire him. His pale skin is littered from still healing bruises from the last time they did this. Ignis adores the way he looks, marked up like this. 

“ _ Ig...gy… _ ” Prompto sighs. 

With his bare thumb, he traces the shape of Prompto’s arousal, appreciates his pink cunt and the dark hole that his folds have parted to reveal, pulsing with the request to be filled. Prompto watches as Ignis removes his gloves, but his gaze returns to the show Gladio and Noctis put on through the window as Ignis slides a single digit easily inside. He whimpers softly, wagging his ass. Ignis puts a second finger inside his eager love and Prompto sighs in relief.  

“ _ Yes _ ,” he says. “Thank you.” 

Ignis chuckles. 

“You’re welcome, Sunshine.”

Prompto pulls his eyes away from the King and his Shield to watch Ignis untuck himself from his slacks. He strokes himself evenly, matching the rhythm to his fingers pumping in and out of his boyfriend’s cunt. Prompto moans, staring at Ignis’ cock with his mouth open and his pussy full. After a few moments, his ministrations begin to unravel him, and Prompto presses his forehead against the glass once more, his rapid breaths fogging the car window. 

When Ignis leans down to lap at the tight pucker of his second hole, Prompto cries out, the pleasured sound echoing through the small space they occupy.  

“I want  _ more _ , Iggy!”.

“Be specific, darling,” Ignis says, pausing the teasing of Prompto’s asshole to speak against his pert cheeks. 

“More inside of me!” Prompto gasps. “I want to be full!” 

“Hmm?” Ignis says curiously, curling his fingers into his wet velvety walls and earning a drawn out purr from his kitten. He presses his tongue briefly against the resistance of his asshole. “Perhaps we’ll fill both these holes someday.” 

“I want your cock,” he says desperately, pushing his sex back against Ignis’ mouth and chin. He cranes his neck once more to eye Ignis’ length passing smoothly through his hand. “ _ Please _ , I’ve been patient.” 

Ignis clucks with misgiving. He offers Prompto a third finger, slowly pressing it inside with the other two. Prompto grunts as he struggles to accept it and Ignis retracts the digit, seeking out his boyfriend’s g-spot with his index and middle instead. 

“It might hurt. You’re not going to like it as much as this,” Ignis warns, gently rubbing the spot inside of Prompto that makes the younger man quake. 

“Please—,” Prompto gasps as he approaches his peak. “Please.” 

“It will be different,” Ignis tells him. “I’m not sure you’re ready.”

“I want it-- so badly,” he whines, gasping out each word as he teeters on the edge of completion. “Wanna-- cum on--  your cock.” 

Ignis hums to himself, curls his fingers inside of Prompto, presses against the soft spot on his wall, feels it inflate with his pleasure. Ignis tongues at his second hole and Prompto explodes with a decadent moan, pouring release into Ignis hand, down his wrist, to soak his denim vest on the seat beneath them. 

“But you’re already so good at cumming on my fingers,” he notes, slowly withdrawing his hand from his boyfriend’s hole, studying the want still painted across his otherwise slack and satisfied face. 

“We’ll see, Sunshine,” Ignis says, switching hands so he may stroke himself with Prompto’s wetness, still coating his palm and dripping from his fingers. Gladio and Noctis has disappeared from view, and Prompto’s attention is fully on Ignis as he brings himself to climax. He finishes over one pale, round ass cheek, knocking the head of his cock against Prompto’s flesh as he releases with a sigh. Prompto smiles at him, collapsing back on the seat and dragging Ignis over him. They kiss languidly, Ignis blindly redressing them, pushing the ruined vest to the floor while Prompto’s hands lay idle, tangled in his hair.  

“I wish this feeling could last forever,” he sighs against Iggy’s lips. 

_ Love. _

 

\---

 

Ignis had, long ago, resigned himself to the reality that happy endings did not exist. 

He had been six years old when he was moved from an orphanage in Tenebrae to live in the Citadel of the Crown City of Insomnia. Told he was to spend the rest of his life serving the Crown, he was too young to really understand the implications. It meant little to him that Insomnia was a rival to his birthland; for the first time in his life, Ignis had three meals a day, his very own room with a soft bed, and an endless supply of books. The King was nice— he would squat to Ignis’ level, touch him gently on the cheek, and say things like “you have no idea how important you are to me.” 

Desperate to impress, longing for security, Ignis committed to every task he was given and even those he was not. A stranger he was instructed to call “Uncle” escorted him to school five days a week, martial arts three afternoons a week, and on Saturdays his uncle would take him to the library and they would read books together until he didn’t feel like a stranger anymore. 

Immediate and impossible to suppress, a deep love for Lucis erupted within him, but even then, Ignis had been skeptical. Why  _ had _ he been brought here?  _ Why him,  _ an orphan boy from a foreign land? Why tease him with the kind of fairy-tales the other children told to fill the long hunger-pained, thin-blanket nights? He tried not to imagine himself as the protagonists in those stories, but padding sock footed down a gaping palace passageway to use a gilded restroom in the middle of the night, it was hard for young Ignis not to pretend he was. 

“Fate has brought you here, son,” his uncle had told him one Saturday morning, a children’s picture book depicting the Hexatheon open on the table between them, “you have a path.”

Looking back, Ignis isn’t sure his uncle meant anything by it… _everyone_ has a path, after all. Yet then the words had planted a dangerous seed in young Ignis’ mind. Six weeks after Ignis was brought to Insomnia, he had been told he was to meet the Prince. With the cruel imagination of a child, Ignis had suspected he was being guided to a mirror.   

If he had thought the Citadel was grand from what he’d seen in the dormitories where he lived, Ignis had been sorely mistaken. His Uncle collected him from school and together they rode an underground train to the other side of palace property, through many guarded doors and down a long narrow hallway with a single door at the end. 

On the other side of that door had not been Ignis’ reflection. At least, not in the way he had hoped. Ignis stood shaking while his Uncle pushed it open and he watched as a massive chamber was revealed to him.

Inside, a giant four poster bed, walls of bookshelves filled with intricate toys, and a thick lush rug in the center, where the King kneels, his hand on the back of a small wailing child, face down on the floor where he pounds his little fists. 

King Regis looked up at Ignis and his Uncle, and then over to the the side of the room where another man stood with a boy. The boy was probably closer to Ignis’ age than the fledgling Prince, and he stood with a disgusted expression next to his father, or who Ignis assumed was his father, based on their matching buzzed scalps and the way the adult gripped the child at the back of his neck. 

“I suppose this isn’t going exactly as planned,” the King laughed.  

Ignis stood in awe, staring out into the massive space, while the King chuckled and struggled to lift the limp and loud four-year old off the floor. Ignis’ eyes briefly met young Gladio’s across the room, before they both turned back to face the child. He can remember thinking decidedly:  _ I have been a fool.  _ This  _ is a Prince _ .

“Well, this is Prince Noctis,” King Regis explained, gathering the reluctant child into his arms. Noctis pounds his fist on the King’s back and the King sets him down once more. The Prince runs to his bed, climbs atop it with some struggle, and burrows beneath the blankets, out of view. 

Ignis let his eyes comb the rest of the lavious space. Beneath heavy velvet curtains, a curved window the size of a wall stood impressive above a mountain of shiny pillows and worn stuffed animals, all piled atop a padded bench that overlooked the sprawling grey metropolis. It was _that_ window, with its square panes of glass, that really drove home the reality for him. There were maybe forty panes and each one was the size of the single window in Ignis’ room in the Citadel Dormitories. Having grown up in poverty, Ignis had no idea until that moment what _wealth_ actually meant.  

Ignis recalls the bitter flavor of the notion that he’d be a better Prince than Noctis. As if to prove the point, he could remember biting back his tears at the loss of a dream while Noctis’ muffled sobs escaped from the thick covers of his lush bed. 

Sixteen years later, Ignis looks up from cooking breakfast to study Noctis where he sits beside the cold fire pit, picking nervously at his glove while Gladio lectures him in a low voice that does not carry. As expected, Noctis eventually shoves off, throwing his canvas chair to the ground and he storms away from the Haven, done hearing whatever it is Gladio had to say. Noctis buries his face in his elbow while he departs, but it is impossible to tell if he just tired or trying to hide his tears. Gladio’s eyes meet his across the campsite, looking put off by Noct’s behavior. Ignis does not miss the parallel to the scene from their childhood— if Noctis is in fact crying, that is. 

Ignis still wishes he could take Noct’s place, but now he wishes it for different reasons.

As a child, it took several years and a budding friendship with Noct for his envy to heal, but eventually, it did. Ignis kept his little room clean, sought a spotless academic record, and addressed every person he came across with folded hands, a bowed head and a title of respect. If he wasn’t a Prince, being the Prince’s Advisor wasn’t the worst hand to be dealt. He was not going to squander his opportunity for a stable and purposeful life, though the event would forever mark the moment Ignis began avoiding optimism as a general rule.  

“Good morning, sunshine,” Prompto says. Ignis’ attention is drawn away from Gladio. He kisses Ignis on the cheek. He refills his cup of coffee.  

“That’s my line,” Ignis tells him, narrowing his eyes as his boyfriend while the shorter man grins up at him.  

_ And then there he is, _ Ignis thinks,  _ rewriting those rules.  _

“We can both be sunshine!” he says. 

“I suppose,” Ignis muses, watching him bend down and gather the plates, stack them beside the stove. “Though I must admit I prefer _Captain.”_  

Prompto blushes slightly, a sheepish smile. Ignis bites back a satisfied smirk, chastising himself gently for the swell of possessive affection that blooms so hotly in his chest.  

Prompto had been nothing but a challenge to conquer from the moment they met. Within days of his budding friendship with Noct, Prompto’s presence was challenging their status quo. Ignis had to tell Noct,  _ no, Prompto may not move into your apartment _ less than a week after the boys began to spend their time together after school. A month later, Ignis was preparing a week’s worth of breakfasts and lunches for both students, Prompto comfortably camped out on Noct’s couch. 

_ No,  _ Ignis had said,  _ Prompto may not come on the road trip.  _

Three days of tiptoeing around both boys’ dejected expressions and  _ fine!  _ Ignis had conceded.  _ But he will be trained as a member of the Guard.  _

“You won’t regret it!” Prompto had told him. 

Ignis’ hand falls still on the wooden spoon, distracted by his thoughts and Prompto beside him. The smaller man bumps his hip against Ignis’, playfully pushing him aside to take over stirring the hashbrowns. 

_ No,  _ Ignis tells himself.  _ You cannot fall in love with him.  _

Well, too late. Nothing to do about that now. 

_ No,  _ Ignis thinks.  _ You cannot have a life with him.  _

With frustration, Ignis acknowledges there is no denying that every _no_ he’s ever said in regards to the younger man has quickly dissolved into a _maybe_.  

And then,  _ yes.  _

And finally,  _ please.  _

Ignis looks away from him and locates Gladio across the campsite, as if studying the Shield may offer him some insight into the bending of will, of being so utterly wrapped around the finger of a man that you’re supposed to be in charge of. Gladio has fetched His Majesty from wherever he had stormed off to, and the two are clearing away the folding chairs from around the firepit. 

“Breakfast in five,” he calls out to them. 

“Plenty of time for a match,” Gladio responds. 

Ignis privately rolls his eyes, suddenly aware that he’s lost all agency over the three men in his group. Gladio and Noctis draw their swords and collide in a cacophony of striking metal and blue sparks.  

They fight for much longer than five minutes. Ignis and Prompto eat their breakfast standing, watching the match. By the time Noctis has sparred away his mood, he begins to tease Gladio relentlessly. With his last attack he warps into Gladio’s body, smirking while he holds his sword against his throat. Gladio stands frozen, defeated, and stares down at him for several moments, before Noct pushes up on his toes and kisses him surely. 

Walking away from his Shield, the King announces, “Alright, now I’m hungry.” 

“Unfortunately, you’ve let your food go cold,” Ignis tells him. 

“Worth it,” Gladio says. 

They have never spoken about it, not at length, but Ignis knows the Shield well enough that the decision to indulge Noct’s romantic advances was not an easy one for him to make, even though it seems Gladio had been harboring the same longing for his liege all this time. Each day, he continues to challenge Gladio in particular, making him the center of his erratic moods and temperamental outbursts. The Shield takes it in stride, his unwavering devotion to his King impossible to ignore. 

“You’re the one named _Ignis_ , after all,” Prompto says, interrupting his train of thought once more. Ignis turns to face him and Prompto is staring down at his empty plate, clearly contemplating seconds.  

“What?” Ignis asks, seeking clarification. 

“You call  _ me  _ sunshine, but  _ you’re  _ the one named after fire,” Prompto says simply, jumping several topics backwards in conversation. 

The flame of his soul is fanned by his words. 

His mother had named him, apparently, though she had died so young Ignis has no reliable memories of her. She had loved him, he remembers that much. Ignis reaches out and places a hand on the back of Prompto’s neck, strokes his skin with his bare thumb. Prompto closes his eyes and sighs at the contact, leaning back into his touch like a kitten seeking a scratch. The vivid memory of receiving Prompto’s background check returns to him. Five years ago, Ignis sat alone in a Citadel conference room, reading the confidential document that delineated Prompto’s adoption, the dubious circumstances of his birth.  

The gunslinger has yet to tell any of them, but when he’s ready, Ignis will be there to listen. 

There is a foolish notion growing in him, that perhaps fate had indeed at brought them all here, that there may have been some sort of prophetic influence upon this group. His rejections and reservations have dissolved away in Prompto’s presence. There is no denying the significant roles Ignis and Prompto play in His Majesty’s odyssey, that due to seemingly impossible circumstances, the two of them had been brought to Noctis’ side to serve him, draw their weapons for him, declare their loyalty to a King that was somehow both  _ always and never _ theirs to begin with. Despite their dark and foggy pasts, Ignis and Prompto stand here now, facing their journey together, and perhaps together, they can face what may come after. 

The very same month Ignis and Prompto had met, Ignis was told to meet his uncle and the King for a discussion on his roles and duties in regard to the Crown Prince. It was an important meeting, and Ignis had arrived early. He hadn’t intended to eavesdrop on their conversation, but His Majesty had left the door open and the unmistakable voices of his uncle and the King poured into the hall, impossible to ignore. 

“He’s your spitting-image, Regis..”

“It’s of no concern,” His Majesty dismissed. 

Ignis froze, understanding blooming in him against his own will. He stilled his steps, leaned towards the door to listen.  

“But he is  _ older _ than the Crown Prince,” his uncle warned. “If he learns of his lineage…”

“If learns of his lineage, then what?” the King asked, sounding agitated. “You think he’ll make a move for the throne?  _ Noctis is, _ ” he said, his voice at first harsh, and then weak, “Noctis has… been chosen. His age matters not. In the eyes of the Crystal, Ignis is illegitimate.”

His heart pounded in his chest, and Ignis took a few steps away from the door lest he be overheard. He pressed himself against the wall, strained his ears to listen. 

“Why are you acting like you don’t know him? He is the smartest kid I’ve ever met. I’m sure he figured it out years ago. He would be a fool to challenge his station…”

The rest of the conversation was lost beneath the sound of the blood rushing past his ears. After a few unsuccessful moments to glean more information, Ignis took a walk and composed himself. He returned for the meeting with the information carefully tucked away in a private part of his mind. 

To this day, Ignis has told no one that he and Noctis are related. Despite the confirmation of his childhood suspicions, Ignis would forever remain a realist; he did, however, learn to trust his gut.

Having decided not to fetch seconds, Prompto brings his plate to his face and licks it clean. Ignis quietly scoffs his disapproval but Prompto just waggles his eyebrows above the plate rim, violet eyes locked on Ignis while he engages in the childish behavior.

“It’s delicious,” he mumbles his defense, still lapping at the dish.  

There’s only one thing for Ignis to do when he feels outmatched by a situation: dedicate himself to it fully. 

 

\---

 

Noctis and Prompto disappear from the haven to pick mushrooms and tempt a Catoblepas for a photo.  

Gladio and Ignis linger at the campsite, taking inventory of their supplies and making a few minor repairs to weaponry. In the distance they can watch the boys play beside the water. Noct stands at the edge of the water, posing for the camera, all the while shouting at Prompto while the blonde fumbles with a mushroom in one hand and the camera in another.  Though His Highness’ words are harsh, the laughter behind them carries all the way back to the campsite. 

“Nice to see him having fun.” 

Something about the way Gladio says it suggests the Shield has more to say on the subject, and Ignis looks up from the grenade launcher he’d been cleaning. Gladio has temporarily abandoned his task of changing the oil in the Regalia and he stands, his hands on his hips while he gazes out at the lake towards Prompto and Noctis. He is shirtless, and Ignis’ eyes scan his body, notes the abundance of scratches raked into his inked skin, two perfectly round bite marks on his left shoulder.  

Ignis crosses the campsite to him, pushes his glasses back up his nose as he studies the recently-scabbed circle-shaped wounds. They look no more than a few hours old, and Ignis tuts at the welted skin. 

“Let me give you some ointment for those. Human bites usually lead to infection.” 

Gladio chews on one side of his mouth, covers the marks with his hand. 

“Ya know, he’s just unleashing his frustrations on someone that’s willing to take it,” he explains. 

“And what frustrations are those?” Ignis asks, prodding at the opportunity to collect information on his hard-to-read liege. 

Gladio frowns at Ignis. The Advisor is relieved when he decides to keep speaking. 

“He asks me to take him away,” he answer cryptically. Ignis stares blankly back at Gladio, waiting for further explanation. He sighs. “He wants me to run away with him.”  

Ignis’ mouth falls open in shock. He was well-aware Noct harbored disdain for his station, but he never had guessed his depression had carried him to desperation. He searches for the words to respond, but they do not come. Seeing his expression, the Shield quickly leaps to the King’s defense. 

“He doesn’t mean it…,” he assures the Advisor. “He doesn’t mean it, because he  _ can’t _ mean it. I won’t let him.”

Ignis sighs, following Gladio’s eye line to study the young monarch at the water’s edge. Just moments before the Catopelas brings its massive snout to investigate His Majesty, Prompto chucks the mushrooms at it and the two young men dart away from the lake, laughing and swearing as they go. 

“But he’s stuck on the idea,” Gladio indulges, “and when I tell him I won’t let him, he gets angry. He’s so much more capable than he acts. He’s been lazy,  _ unfocused _ , during battle. He needs to start acting like a King.” 

Ignis turns to face him once more, watches Gladio rub at the wounds Noct’s imprisonment have left behind. While he trusts Gladio’s dedication to the mission, His Majesty’ flightiness is a problem that must be addressed urgently. At a loss himself as to the solution, he decides to lean on any possible insight the Shield can provide. 

“How have you pushed him past his physical limits and emotional boundaries in the past?” Ignis asks.

“Take him to the mat and kick his ass, usually.”

Ignis tuts thoughtfully. “You’ve always had your own brand of dominance with him.” 

“It’s different now”

“I don’t see how.” 

“Course you do,” Gladio says in irritation.

Ignis nods sideways in admission and turns to watch his boyfriend and the King as they begin to towards camp. As the boys approach, Ignis considers both the deep complications and feelings of comfort that the bloom of romantic love has brought the group. 

“If he’s looking for an escape, maybe that’s exactly what he needs?”

“Are you telling me to hit him?”

“ _ Consensually, _ Gladio. When’s the last time you sparred?”

“Yesterday." 

“ _Without_ swords.”  

Gladio falls into thoughtful silence. Ignis glances over at the Regalia, hood up, before strolling off towards the other men. Lost in thought, Gladio remains at the campsite, his eyes combing the horizon. 

Ignis meets the boys halfway, but neither see him coming, pressed shoulder to shoulder, screening their eyes in an attempt to look at the photos they snapped. The Advisor catches the tail end of their conversation. 

“...Look Prom, I just don’t understand. If you want it, you gotta take it...” 

“How did the pictures come out?” Ignis asks. 

Prompto yelps in surprise when he looks up, his cheeks turning red. Noct catches the camera as it slips from Prompto’s hands.  

“Pretty good,” His Majesty answers for him, smirking softly.  

“Excellent,” he replies, studying both of their expressions, deeply curious as to the subject of conversation. “Prompto, will you help Gladio change the oil on the car? I’m not sure he knows what he’s doing.” 

“Sure thing,” Prompto answers, regaining his composure before walking off. 

For a few moments, Noctis and Ignis stare at each other, clearly preoccupied with their own thoughts. Ignis searches his eyes, tries to locate the desire for escape deep within them. His Majesty glances away, a hand coming to the back of his neck. Without speaking, they turn and head for camp.

 

\--

 

That night, they reach Lestallum just in time for the setting sun to offer some relief from the sticky city air. Still, all four men leave their jackets in the car as they descend on the city in search of food and drink. Ignis stops by the Inn to secure a room for the evening, and he catches up with the rest of the guys at an outdoor cafe in the back of the farmer’s market. 

Within the safety of the city lights, they decide to indulge in a few bottles of wine, and the combination of alcohol and the warm evening air chips away at their inhibitions. Ignis watches the ball of tension that is his young King slowly unfurl with each sip. Before long, Prompto has Noctis laughing at his jokes, and it floods Ignis with relief to see Noctis wiping tears from his eyes, brought from joy, rather than frustration. Gladio and Ignis seize the opportunity to discuss a few tips they’ve received from citizens around town, but work talk doesn’t last long with the younger ones whispering loudly to each other across the table top, slapping their hands on their thighs in amusement. 

Though Ignis doesn’t manage to catch any of their conversation, Gladio wags his eyebrows at Ignis in a telling way. 

Moments like this feel crucial to Ignis on their difficult journey, brief opportunities to be not a Crownsguard, but simply a group of young men, unwinding with budding love and yet another bottle of wine.  

Gladio loses his shirt halfway into their meal, grabbing the attention of not just his King, but the many people that surround them in the crowded marketplace. The temptation is too great for Noct, who abandons his food shortly after and crawls into Gladio’s lap in a display of possession. Straddling the Shield’s broad thighs, his feet dangle above the ground and he rests his head back against one wide, winged shoulder.  

“It’s hot,” he says. “I want ice cream.”

“You didn’t even finish your dinner, Noct,” Gladio tells him, gesturing at his half-eaten kabobs. 

“You can have ‘em,” he answers. “I want ice cream.” 

Noct turns around on his human throne to meet Gladio’s eyes. They hold a challenging glare for several seconds, Ignis and Prompto watching curiously to see who will win. 

“A princess always gets what she wants.”

Ignis does not miss the intriguing use of pronouns in Noctis’ statement, but he puts the information away for later processing, suddenly distracted by the sensation of Prompto running a socked foot up and down the length of his calf beneath the table.  

“Fine,” Gladio concedes. He stands to leave, but not before hoisting Noct by the armpits and throwing him over his shoulder. Ignis watches them across the market as Gladio unfolds gil into the server’s open hand. Noct collects two cones of ice cream from where he still clings to Gladio’s back, legs locked around his waist. 

After dinner, the two couples part ways. Ignis offers a drunk Gladio and a drunker Noctis the hotel room so they won’t make use of a dimly lit alley way. He and Prompto stroll the city hand in hand, revisiting the location of their unsuccessful first kiss with amusement. In stark contrast from his first attempt, this time when Ignis initiates, Prompto kisses him back. With each passing moment, Prompto’s hands begin to wander more and more. Ignis’ body responds eagerly, knowing they’ll get their turn later. Though he attempts to pacify him with a few affectionate pats on the ass, Prompto is not deterred. 

“People are going to notice your busy hands, Sunshine,” Ignis says, capturing Prompto’s wrist in his hand after he gives Ignis’ bulge a solid squeeze through the front of his trousers. 

Prompto grins brightly with wine-stained lips, shrugging as he leans his body into Ignis’ open arms. 

“Let them look,” he says. 

Ignis ears ring like Prompto pulled the trigger too close. His eyes are wide open, but he sees fireworks looking down at his boyfriend’s face. Ignis grins at him, pulling him in for a final kiss. 

“It seems we both enjoy showing each other off.”

By the time they return to the hotel room, Noctis is long asleep, tucked into Gladio’s side while he reads beneath the bedside lamp. They look perfectly innocent, but Prompto and Ignis both look them over with curious eyes before they turn in themselves. 

It is always sweet torture to share a hotel bed with Prompto. 

Within moments of Noct and Gladio falling asleep, Prompto scoots backwards into his boyfriend, aligning that perfect ass with his stiffening cock, mouthing at Ignis’ collarbone over his shoulder. Ignis muffles his pleasured moans with a gentle but firm palm, while he expertly works his fingers in circles over Prompto’s cock. He knows exactly what Prompto likes now, and he can make his boyfriend cum in a little over a minute. It has become an opportunity they never fail to seize, driven by the exciting taboo of the other men asleep across the room. The sensation of their bodies together is almost painful, but it is worth it to hold Prompto while he cums, feel his perfect boy babbling wetly into both of his palms. 

With his erection nestled between the halves of Prompto’s clothed ass, Ignis is consumed by the intense desire to finish the process of taking his virginity. The ache to be inside of him is constant, but he is ensuring they take their time. Prompto is new to this and Ignis is careful that the contrast in experience level does not leave his treasured boyfriend hurt or misused.

Still, Prompto’s requests get bolder and more frequent, and his interest in penetration makes Ignis burn with his own selfish desire to complete the task, conquer that final frontier of virginity that Prompto still reserves for him alone. The thought makes his cock throb, and Ignis tightens his hands on Prompto in response. Ignis knows Prompto is a beautiful blank canvas, where every stroke matters, but sometimes he just wants to stick his cock in the paint. 

When Prompto comes moaning against his silencing hand, cunt pulsing in his other palm, Ignis slowly releases him. Usually, Prompto rolls over to untuck Ignis from his boxers, stroke him to completion, a skill he quickly mastered, but tonight, Prompto reaches behind himself to pull Ignis free, his cock bare and burning hot between Prompto’s thighs.  

He thrusts forward involuntarily and Prompto sighs in relief. The hand that cupped Prompto through his underwear flies to his hip, still damp fingertips grabbing at his hipbone as Ignis begins to rut into him, the soft skin of his bare thighs offering sweet friction on his desperate flesh.  

It is cruel to indulge in the motion after fantasizing about being inside of him, and Ignis presses his face into the back of Prompto’s head, breathing deeply the scent of his hair while he drags his cock back and forth between his thighs for a few blissful moments before he will make himself stop.  

Suddenly, there is a shifting of bodies as Prompto does something beneath the blankets, and momentarily, Ignis mourns the loss of contact. Then, without warning, Prompto finds his cock with his hand once more, and guides Ignis inside. 

Both men gasp aloud as the head of Ignis’ cock breaches Prompto’s wet heat. In a moment of panic, Ignis tries to push Prompto away, but his hand tightens painfully around the base of him and Ignis falls still, letting the younger man swallow him slowly with his searing cunt. 

Prompto is as tight as Ignis was worried he would be, and he didn’t even get to use his fingers to prepare him. He can feel his boyfriend trembling against him, but he seems to have no desire to stop, releasing his hold on Ignis so he can push back with his hips and take him all the way. Ignis groans into his ear as his abdomen comes to rest flush against Prompto’s lower back. 

The feeling of Prompto’s virgin cunt pulsing in time with his throbbing cock triggers two succinct thoughts in Ignis’ addled mind: Prompto is in serious trouble, and by gods, he is in love with him. 

Ignis had been frustratingly close  _ before  _ Prompto executed his plan, and Ignis rolls on top of him, pinning his boyfriend between the bed and his body as he carefully begins to piston in and out of the smaller man. Prompto cries out, his mouth uncovered, both of Ignis’ hands fisted in the sheets in an attempt to hold onto some of his sanity. 

“Yes,” Prompto whispers to him encouragement. “Yes.” 

“Hush,” Ignis commands. 

Buried deep inside of him, Ignis watches through the darkness as Prompto covers his own mouth and nods. Ignis leans down, slowly beginning to thrust into him once more while he presses the words “good darling” quietly into his ear. 

For a few strokes, Ignis revels in the silky pleasure of Prompto’s cunt.  _ All mine,  _ he thinks possessively _. _ And then the pressure builds, and he can feel Prompto trembling with another building orgasm, and Ignis cannot think or do anything but hump into him, his body on fire and his mind static. The bed creaks with the sway of his hips, and while Prompto’s cries are muted by his hand, Ignis lets slip a groan that echoes in the space between Prompto’s shoulder blades. 

When Prompto explodes for a second time, Ignis feels the point where their bodies connect grow warm and slippery with his generous release. Moments later, Ignis is spilling irresponsibly into his quaking softness, claiming Prompto in the exact way he’d been fantasizing about for weeks now. 

There will be repercussions in the morning, but for now, Ignis puts the worries away. He pulls out of Prompto slowly and gathers his lover, softly giggling, into his arms. When Prompto’s trembling finally ceases, Ignis tip toes out of bed and returns with a warm cloth. He cleans his love between his folds, down his thighs. Prompto spreads his legs so sweetly for him, Ignis is tempted to dive back in. 

“Are you mad?” he whispers. 

“Yes,” Ignis promises. He kisses Prompto on the forehead. “I love you,” he says. “Go to sleep.” 

Prompto obeys that much, at least. With a murmured, “love you so much…” Prompto quickly drifts off. Propped on one elbow, Ignis watches him sleep, listening to the sound of Gladio rolling over in bed, Noctis snore. 

 

\---

 

In the morning, Ignis explains that he has some errands to run, and he sends His Majesty and a red-faced Prompto off to entertain themselves. Gladio insists he go with Ignis, and after a silent protest, Ignis gives into Gladio’s unwavering stare. Resentfully, Ignis wonders when he got so soft to the impulses of others’ desires. 

Gladio doesn’t say anything as they walk across town to a specialty pharmacy. He is wearing his tank top and Ignis eyes the bite wounds on his shoulder as he considers any additional purchases that need to be made while they were there. Prompto claimed repeatedly he did not need the medication, but Ignis refused to take the risk. If anything, having to endure nausea for an afternoon might be earned punishment for the stunt his boyfriend pulled the night before. Having contacted the pharmacist before setting out, the transaction is executed with no incriminating dialogue, but Gladio’s eyes still bore into his cheek from where he waits a few yards away. 

Whether he knows what is in the package or not, Gladio chooses the walk back to the Leville as the moment to say, “I heard what ya two got up to last night.”

Ignis clears his throat while he considers how to proceed.

Gladio continues, ensuring him he’s not put off. “For all his PDA, Noct’s too shy to let me touch him with you guys in the room.” 

He snorts softly. 

“Prompto is not shy,” Ignis indulges. “He likes… to initiate,” he decides, both implying that Prompto started last night’s event while not alluding to the fact that getting off in the presence of the others is already a regular habit, or the fact that this had been an unplanned, unprotected first penetration. 

Gladio laughs, “Kinda opposite from what you expect.” 

Ignis smiles fondly. 

“There’s an unexplored exhibitionist in there,” he muses aloud. 

“Ya gotta learn how to control that boy, Iggy.” 

Ignis gives Gladio a look. 

“Speak for yourself,” Ignis chides, separating out a bottle of antibiotic ointment from the bag. He hands it to Gladio and gestures to a new bite mark on his bicep. Gladio chuckles under his breath, “Nah, I like ‘em, let ‘em scar.”  

They fall into thoughtful silence.

Tucking Prompto’s medication back inside his coat pocket, Ignis considers the look on his face when he interrupted Prompto and Noctis  in Duscae, the King’s advice of simply taking what he wants. Ignis is still troubled by the information Gladio had divulged about Noctis’ desire to give up. Short stays in Lestallum offer a brief reprieve from their difficult journey, but the road continues to grow more perilous, and both Ignis and Gladio know, their time short. 

“How is His Majesty?” Ignis asks softly, an Advisor to his Shield. 

“I don’t know,” Gladio answers. 

“We have to know,” Ignis insists. “It’s our job, as his retainers, and your job, as his…” 

“Shield,” Gladio interrupts. 

“I was going to say  _ Shield _ ,” Ignis retorts. 

Gladio grins at him, bright enough to settle a fraction of his worry. He throws his arms around Ignis’ shoulders as they cut through an alley toward the hotel. 

“Look, Iggy,” he says, “you worry about getting your boy under control and I’ll worry about mine.” 

Gladio passes Ignis a stack of condoms and Ignis scoffs. 

“That’s not how it works, Gladio,” shoving the foils into his pocket despite his offense, the bodyguard guffawing from beside him. “I am Noct’s  _ advisor _ .” 

“So keep advising him! He’s doing alright,” Gladio says, catching his breath. “He’s scared, but he wants to do the right thing. He’s grateful to have us with him. All we gotta do is stay by his side.” 

“It’s more complicated than that,” Ignis says, mostly to himself, the argument lost on Gladio many times before. 

“Love is the answer,” Gladio remarks. “Any storybook will tell ya that.” 

 

\--

 

The following afternoon, they complete a quick hunt for the owner of the market cafe, taking out a herd of aggressive Anak that recently appeared on the outskirts of town, and have been harrassing travelers making their way into the city. It’s a bit of a drive, but a fun fight with a good bounty. Before they start back to Lestallum, His Majesty decides to seek out a rumored fishing hole a mile South, and the group sets out on foot across the rocky landscape to explore.

It is Prompto that notices the stone arch, overgrown with crawling vines, hidden behind an outcropping of natural rock in the hillside. 

“Heya, Noct, check it out!” Prompto says, indicating the direction simply by looking through the viewfinder on his camera 

Noct’s eyes sweep the horizon, landing on the entrance to the tomb. 

“Cool,” he says, swiftly turning on the heel of his boot to continue his walk towards the fishing hole. Gladio grabs him by the back of his jacket. 

“Come on,” the Shield says. “Let’s take a look.” 

“Best not miss an opportunity to collect another arm,” Ignis concurs. “If this turns out to be a royal Lucian tomb, it’ll be a stroke of luck if it is not yet pillaged.” 

For a few moments, the Crownsguard stares at their King, and then with a loud sigh, Noct stomps towards the entrance to the cave, the other three men close behind. The mouth of the cavern quickly gives way to a narrow passage, sloping down into the earth. On both walls, ancient Lucian words are crowded by moss and mushrooms, sprouting from the damp air. 

“This looks promising,” Ignis notes. 

Noct glares at Ignis momentarily through the dim light, and the Advisor can see him grinding his teeth in frustration, but without any verbal complaint, Noct turns and begins to lead the way down the narrow path. 

“Oh…” Prompto says in disappointment as they descend into the darkness. “It’s creepy in here.” 

Less than ten minutes into their exploration, the first batch of imps surround them, pouring from a crevice in the ceiling and taking them all by surprise. In the few frantic moments before Prompto can get a starshell shot into the cave, the four men sustain considerable damage, their attackers weak but plentiful, coming at them from all directions in the cramped cavern. 

Ignis puts the last imp out of its misery, musing aloud, “would like to have wrapped that up more quickly.” 

Noct manifests a potion in everyone’s hand and his men are still glowing turquoise when the young King announces, “let’s get out of here. I’m not doing this today.” 

“Yeah, let’s quit, sounds good,” Prompto quickly replies. 

Ignis shoots him a look and his boyfriend shrugs in apology. 

“We’re already halfway down, Noct,” Gladio says. 

“Noct,” Ignis tries. “This place is swarming with daemons--” 

“Sounds like a good reason to _leave,_ ” he interrupts. Noct charges through the group and starts for the entrance. 

“Not so fast,” Gladio growls. He grabs Noct by the wrist and forcibly drags him back towards the group, hoisted high enough off the ground that just the toes of his boots squeal against the stone floor. When he lands on his feet again, Noct yanks his arm free and throws a punch at Gladio’s stomach that the Shield catches with his other hand. In a second, the bodyguard has both of the King’s arms clasped in his fist and Noct struggles against him in vain, his arms held above him, Gladio bearing down over the young King in his anger. 

“Your Majesty,” Ignis starts again. “If the daemons really are connected to the Empire, that may mean they already have eyes on this location. We will not be able to return. We must complete the task we commenced.” 

“I don’t want to do this,” Noct says to Ignis, his voice cracking with frustration as he fights against his captor. He spits his next words at Gladio. “You can’t make me!” 

“Wanna bet?” Gladio replies, voice gruff with threat. 

With nothing to say and feeling in the way, Prompto slinks away from the others, comes to stand behind Ignis. He presses cold fingers against his lower back, working at tense muscles, making Ignis sigh deeply at the painful relief. Noct’s outbursts get no easier to navigate, and no one notices more than Prompto how his body responds to the stress. Prompto lays his forehead against Ignis’ shoulder while he massages him, and Ignis can smell him, like sweet fresh bread wafting in the cool air. 

Gladio’s voice booms as it echoes through the space. One could whisper and be heard in here. Gladio chooses to yell anyway.  

“This isn’t about you, brat!"

_ “Of course it is--”  _

Gladio shakes Noct firmly in his hands and his head snaps forward, teeth knocking together loud enough for Ignis to hear where he stands several feet away. Noct whimpers, his eyes suddenly wet. 

“It’s about your _Kingdom_ , Noct! It’s about _them_ , about Jared and Talcott! About Iris, and her future children. It’s _not_ about you! It’s _not_ about us.”  

Though the Advisor cannot entirely sure what it is, it is apparent that something has changed about the way Gladio responds to Noct’s outburst. The Shield still uses his words, but this time Noctis is forced to listen, clasped in his bruising grip. It usually takes several minutes to quell one of his tantrums, but this time, Noct looks right up at Gladio, face to face with him, offering the direct eye contact they so rarely receive. He is giving the Shield his full attention, no longer struggling in his grip. Instead, his body has gone soft and he lets Gladio support his weight, knees softly bent. After a moment, he faces the ground once more, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the floor of the cave. 

“Fine,” he says softly. “Let’s go.” 

Gladio releases him, but Noct’s hands linger in his, softly curled fingers parting sorrowfully when they finally do. 

The path is slow going, swarms of imps and weak flan cropping up every few yards, but better prepared and thankfully quite focused, they don’t struggle to neutralize their enemies. By the time they reach the bottom, Gladio and Prompto are cracking jokes, waving their weapons in the air even with no hostiles present. Less interested in humor, Ignis and Noctis walk ahead, brothers, side by side. If Noctis ever did run away, Ignis would miss him dearly. 

“It’s seems we discovered your great grandfather just in time,” Ignis tells him as they step through the entrance to the sarcophagus room to no lurking Arachnea or Mindflayer afoot. “The Empire has not yet sent reinforcements.” 

The King and his Crownsguard enter the chamber quietly, with the respect the dead request. The marble room is vast and surprisingly clean. The sound of their footsteps echo as they approach the Lucian royalty. It is Noctis who speaks first, looking down at his ancestor with thoughtful eyes, half a smile. 

“Grand _ mother, _ ” he says. 

“The Tomb of the Just,” Prompto reads aloud from an inscription on the wall. 

His Majesty reaches towards the stone body, one hand extended. He pauses before he collects the weapon, his hand shaking slightly in his surprise.

“It’s… a shield,” he says softly. 

It has not gotten any less impressive to watch Noctis call forth on his ancestors and claim an arm. There is a serene expression painted across the King’s often stormy face whenever he does this, and Ignis ponders what it must feel like to Noct, to open himself as a vessel like this, to channel such ancient energy. Ignis longs to delay the moment he must witness his liege make use of the power he contains. The tomb glitters with brilliant icy light. Perhaps consumed with similar thoughts, Prompto’s hand squeezes his firmly where they are clasped together. 

Victorious, and exhausted, they emerge from the Tomb of the Just to discover night has fallen. Rather than journey back to the car and risk a Red Giant, they finish their trek to the fishing hole and rent the camper at the outpost down the road. 

“Should always have the Chocobos,” Prompto notes aloud. 

They eat stacked sandwiches and down several bottles of beer sitting around the plastic table outside of the caravan. The day’s circumstance have robbed the couples of much intimacy and they make up for lost time. Tired, buzzed and grateful to be alive, Prompto drapes himself over Ignis’ shoulder, nose and mouth in his neck, and Noct crawls into Gladio’s lap, quickly falling asleep. When the Shield rises to put his King to bed, Prompto seizes the opportunity to kiss Ignis on the mouth, his lips parted softly in invitation. Ignis kisses him back, tongue pressing deeply into Prompto’s open mouth, enjoying him for as long as he can before they are separated for the night in the close quarters of the motorhome. 

The never got a chance to really discuss the previous night, not at length, privacy and downtime hard to come by on days like these. The memory is fresh in Ignis’ mind. Any time his thoughts fall slack, Prompto is there beneath him again, plush ass up against his belly as he buried his naked cock deep inside his love. 

Prompto’s hand finds his quickening erection through his pants, stroking him lightly as he grows hard down his thigh with the memory of last night. Sucking his lower lip into his mouth, Prompto climbs into Ignis’ lap, straddling his thighs, a maddening pocket of air between his wanting cock and Prompto’s crotch. In full view of the supply shop, the couple is illuminated by the yellow street lamp hanging above them. Ignis pulls back, lips touching lightly so he may tut softly at his keening pet. 

“Come now, love,” he murmurs to him. “Let us get some rest.” 

Prompto crawls off of his boyfriend with a sad smile. 

“Tomorrow?” he asks. 

“Tomorrow,” Ignis promises. “I will give you what you need."

With a heady little chuckle, Prompto pulls away from him, pressing the back of his hands to his pink cheeks as he ascends the stairs. 

 They take their normal places in the caravan. The boys in the easily defendable bed, Ignis on the small fold out in the walkway, and Gladio, sitting upright on the bench by the door, serving as watchdog and unable to fit in any of the other options, regardless.

Noct is snoring easily, but Ignis can tell from the sound of his breathing that Prompto does not fall asleep right away. He imagines his boyfriend is similarly consumed by thoughts of the previous night together. Ignis wonders if Prompto is wet in the bed beside Noctis. He wonders if his boyfriend will go as far to touch himself, a practiced hand clamped over that sweet little mouth to keep from disturbing the others. Ignis closes his eyes and falls asleep recalling the way Prompto opened up to him, what it felt like to finally join their bodies in such a perfect and complementary way, for the first time and in the presence of witnesses. Totally and wholly  _ his. _

 

\---

 

The next day, they return to the city and Ignis ensures he and Prompto get the room to themselves for a few hours. Seconds after Gladio and Noctis leave, Prompto is on him, looping his arms over Ignis’ neck and slotting their legs together where they stand. 

“Now now,” Ignis admonishes. “Not so fast.” 

 “I want you to fuck me again,” Prompto whines. “I’ve been thinking about it nonstop the last two days.” 

“ _Prompto_ ,” he says sharply. The tone he uses is enough to make the shorter man flinch away from him. Ignis gestures to a chair nearby.  “Have a seat.”  

Prompto slinks away. He sits down with his hands on his knees, legs shut and ankles crossed. Violet eyes watch Ignis curiously as his boyfriend slowly moves to sit on the bed across from him.  

“Let’s talk about the other night,” Ignis begins. 

“You said you loved me,” Prompto blurts out, nearly interrupting him. Ignis looks back at him in surprise. 

“I do love you.”

“But you hadn’t said it yet,” he replies a little sheepishly. 

“It’s not exactly how I planned on telling you, but I needed you to know, considering the… circumstances. That’s not exactly how I envisioned your first time,  _ either _ .”

“It’s how  _ I _ envisioned it,” Prompto says. 

“Clearly.” 

“Don’t be mad!” Prompto pleads. “I was sick of waiting. Noct said I should just… do it… take what I wanted.” 

“Did he now?” Ignis hums. “Intriguing. Gladio told me I need to get  _ you _ under control.” 

Prompto flushes red. 

“You… told him?" 

“He heard.”

“Oh,” Prompto breathes. 

Ignis stands up, hovering over Prompto in his chair, studying the way his pupils grow with each passing moment. He leans down, his lips brushing against his ear, his hand hovering over Prompto’s bulge, where he radiates heat. 

“Do you like thinking about him listening to us?” 

Prompto nods, jerking his hips up to make contact with Ignis’ hand. He indulges him in just a few seconds of sweet contact before he pulls away to slowly lower his zipper. 

“Do you think it made his cock hard? I bet he liked the way you sounded when I took you. ”

Prompto’s hands fly to him, fingers immediately knotting in his clothes. Ignis tuts at him gently, taking a wrist in each hand and passing Prompto’s arms behind the back of the chair, where he slips a prepared loop of cotton rope around his boyfriend’s hands and cinches it tight. Prompto gasps. Ignis kisses him softly on the cheek. 

“Such pretty noises.” 

Prompto whimpers openly, hips lifting off the chair, reaching into empty air. 

“What is your color, darling?”

“Green,” Prompto says, his voice thin.  

Ignis smiles. 

“Spread your legs for me, love.” 

Prompto peers up at Ignis through his eyelashes. He is both tentative and obedient as he spreads his thighs and the combination makes the older man burn. Ignis drops to his knees between Prompto’s legs, slowly and carefully binding his ankles and thighs to the sides of the chair with soft rope and well-researched knots. 

“Captain…” he murmurs from above him. 

“I figured,” Ignis tells him while he works. “That if you’re going behave without boundaries, perhaps I should give you some. If you’re going to take something you want, don’t I deserve one of my fantasies too?”

“I’ll do anything for you,” Prompto says, words rushed out on a breath. Ignis leans up and kisses him. 

“Of course you will, darling,” he says when he pulls away. 

Prompto tests his bonds, whining when he cannot reach Ignis for another kiss. Ignis strides away from Prompto, who grunts in protest at being left alone. He fetches a device from his satchel, a recently purchased toy he’s been looking for an opportunity to use. Silver and shaped like a bullet, a firm twist triggers the small object vibrating furiously between Ignis’ fingers. 

“Um,” Prompto begins. 

Ignis doesn’t give him a chance to process. He returns to his boyfriend, one hand cradling the back of his head while the other slides the vibrator inside his unfastened jeans. Prompto throws his head back with a gasp, straining against his bonds in response to the sudden intrusion. Ignis’ fingers crawl through Prompto’s wet folds, positioning the bullet against his cock, before he removes his hand and leaves him alone on the chair. 

Ignis pauses to look at him carefully, study the picture of Prompto as he buzzes softly in his seat. Though Ignis doesn’t say anything, Prompto nods rapidly, staring back at Ignis with an ardent expression. 

“Green,” he breathes, unprompted. 

Ignis smiles. 

“Good.” 

He sends a text and sets his phone aside, watching Prompto writhe as much as his restraints will allow him. He lets out a whimper so heady, Ignis feels like a pain in his cock. The sight of Prompto, submissive and unraveling where Ignis has tied him up, is enough to drive him crazy, but he sits patiently across from him, not yet indulging in his own pleasure. 

“There have to be consequences for your behavior,” Ignis tells him. 

Prompto jerks in his seat, moaning raggedly through shaky exhalations as his orgasm builds. 

“S’too much, Iggy… m’not gonna last...” 

“When have I ever wanted you to last?” he asks. “In your case, quality and quantity are one.”  

Prompto laughs weakly, throwing his head back and trying to catch his breath. 

Suddenly the door to the hotel room opens, and Prompto gasps in horror. Having expected the intrusion, Ignis pays Gladio and Noctis no mind, eyes glued to Prompto, the way he struggles to muffle himself, attempts to clamp shut his thighs. 

“Forgot something,” Gladio announces, charging into the room. He drags Noctis by the bicep; His Majesty and Prompto lock eyes in shock. 

“What… the fuck…” Noctis mumbles, staring at the unmistakable sight of his best friend, quaking where he’s tied to a chair, Ignis sitting before him with crossed legs and folded hands. There is selfish satisfaction in catching the King off guard, for all the times he’s tested Ignis’ patience. Prompto’s head falls forward with a strangled breath, breaking the eye contact. Gladio grabs a novel from the bedside table and Noct by the scruff of his neck, dragging both quickly from the room

The door clicks shut. 

Prompto gasps in all at once, his head falling to the side. Ignis studies the indents where he bit his lower lip in an attempt to silence himself, dropping his eyes to the considerable wet spot that appeared in the crotch of his jeans. Oversensitive, Prompto begins to whimper and whine, hips writhing in the seat. He murmurs, “y-yellow,” but Ignis is already on his way, a gentle hand dipping beneath his waist band to remove the toy, appreciate his slickness. 

“That’s it, darling,” Ignis says. 

“ _ Fuck! _ ” Prompto exclaims in satisfaction, a weak grin crooked on his face. Ignis knew Prompto would enjoy the surprise he had orchestrated with Gladio, but he didn’t expect his boyfriend to climax at the sight of  his best friend’s horrified reaction. Prompto’s interest in exhibition certainly gives them the upper hand. They stare at each other for a few moments, between them an unspoken realization that there is much more fun to be had. Ignis leans back with one hand behind him on the bed and pulls his cock out, painfully erect after Prompto’s sweet little show. He strokes himself in his boyfriend’s direction, and Prompto strains against the ropes once more, his chair creaking in protest. 

“Untie me, untie me,” he begs. “Let me ride you.” 

Ignis stands up, still stroking himself, and moves into Prompto’s space, placing a kiss against his temple and sliding a short, sharp knife in Prompto’s bound hands. 

“Untie yourself,” Ignis instructs. “You’ll figure it out, if you really want it.” 

“Always trying to teach me something,” Prompto huffs as Ignis retreats, sitting on the edge of the bed once more. 

“Only because you have the potential,” Ignis explains, “and I love you.” 

“I love you too,” Prompto whines, his desperation clear in his voice, his eyes on Ignis’ erection.

Prompto grunts in frustration while he works, his eyes flitting between Ignis’ cock and his face as he tries to work by feel alone to free his wrists. Ignis watches he muscles in his chest and arms tighten and shake with his effort, and he pauses to lean forward and push Prompto’s tank top up to his collarbone. Goosebumps prickle his skin in response, tight nipples flush a dusky red. Prompto whines indignantly. 

“I… can’t… get it,” he huffs, tongue darting out of his mouth in concentration, violet eyes wet with frustration as he gazes longingly at Ignis’ cock. 

Ignis sits back and pumps himself, and  _ Astrals  _ it feels good to see Prompto suffer a little punishment for his indiscretion two nights before. He teases the slit at his glans with his thumb, feels the liquid he begins to leak at the sight of his bound love. 

After a few more moments of struggling, Prompto groans in relief and shakes his hands free. Immediately the desperate look in his eyes is replaced with hunger, and Ignis smirks at him as Prompto begins sawing at the several knots that restrain his legs. 

“You’re making progress, pet.” 

Ignis stops touching himself to roll a condom on— best to do it while Prompto is still restrained, lest they have another incident. Prompto manages to free himself while Ignis is preoccupied, and still draped in sawed-through ropes, the younger man kicks his way out of his boots and jeans as well. 

“Kind of liked that knife thing,” Prompto says while he undresses. “You could really leave a mark on me with that.” 

His words catch Ignis off guard and the older man moans in earnest. 

Prompto mounts him with little hesitation and sits down on Ignis’ cock like he’s done it a hundred times before. He steadies him with gentle hands on his waist, tender circles drawn over his hip bones with his thumb. In his lap, Prompto falls still, breathing heavily, and Ignis gets to appreciate him in the daylight like this for the first time, the way his pale thighs quiver with the effort, still marked with suck bruises. Ignis admires the way his pink cunt stretches to accommodate the base of his cock. He scratches his fingernails affectionately through the course, golden hair above his cock, and lower, to work him with short strokes that make Prompto moan and rock his hips on his lap once more. 

As fun as it was to force him to be stationary, Ignis can admit he prefers Prompto in his natural, active state. With little hesitation, he begins to gyrate on him, grinding his wet cock into the heel of his hand. It is blissfully good to have Prompto around him once more. He is tight and soft in a way that make his edges blur, until he feels nothing but that divine point of joining between them and it is impossible to tell where his own body ends and his lover begins. Each motion of his his hips sends intensifying pleasure rolling through Ignis’ body, hot waves of something that is both need and satisfaction reaching all the way to his fingertips, his toes. Prompto seems to be feeling similarly exceptional, eyes shut and mouth open with his pleasure as he works himself in circles on Ignis’ hard cock. Prompto shouldn't have to do all the work, especially after being on his best behavior for his punishment. He looks positively sinful as begins to bounce in his lap, but Ignis brings two hands to his thighs to still him anyway. 

“How does it feel?” Ignis asks him, longing to hear his voice now that they have the chance to speak. 

“It’s everything I never knew I needed.”

Ignis ruts up into him and Prompto gasps. He holds Prompto’s thin hips steady in his hands, stroking in and out of him a few times, admiring the sight of Prompto’s marked thighs slick and spread for him, watching his cock disappear into his cunt before he drags it back out once more. 

“My sentiments exactly,” Ignis breathes.  

Ignis sets a deliberate rhythm, fucking up into Prompto, listening to the wet sounds of his cunt as he loosens him up, watching the flush crawl up his neck to paint his blissful face a deep, satisfied pink. Prompto snaps his mouth shut to swallow a moan and Ignis tuts at him, shaking his head softly.    

“Let me hear you, kitten.”

His mouth spills open, pleasured notes of  _ ah-ah-ah  _ tumbling forth. Ignis pauses his pistoning for just long enough to remove Prompto’s shirt, and then he returns to his rhythm, Prompto’s cries jumping an octave as Ignis begins to mouth at his chest. His nipples get so eager for Ignis, hard and round like marbles that he passes across his tongue, earning breathy little whines and half-formed words from their owner. Prompto cums a second time, without warning. Warm release suddenly trickling down his balls, between his thighs, Prompto falling soft and trembling in his lap. 

He pulls back to look at him and violet eyes meet his in a hungry way that tells him that Prompto isn’t finished. Ignis gently tugs on a nipple with one hand, the other stroking the lips stretched around his cock. He holds the eye contact as Prompto starts to roll his hips once more, and Ignis can’t help but selfishly appreciate the sexual creature he’s created. Nude in his lap, grinding on his cock, Prompto is as confident and bold as the sun.

Ignis lasts long enough to give Prompto two more before his fluttering cunt draws the submission from him and he falls still, riding out his orgasm with Prompto’s hands in his hair, his lips on his neck. 

“ _ Captain _ …” he whispers. 

Reluctantly, they part, and Prompto collapses backwards in the bed, stretching his arms above him and bending his knees as he re-enters his fucked body. He does look like a kitten as he lounges about post-coitus, rolling his naked body across the hotel bed. Unable to resist the temptation, Ignis crawls over him, trapping him beneath his arms. Prompto reaches up, unbuttoning Ignis’ shirt and shoving it open so he may press warm kisses over his bare chest. He arches his cunt up into the considerable bulge where Ignis tucked away his still-softening erection, and the drenched hair surrounding Prompto’s sex leaves wet tracks along the front of his pants. 

“How are you feeling?” Ignis asks him, chuckling softly.

“Like I belong to you,” he answers. With the sweat cooling on their bodies, Ignis draws the rumpled white comforter up over them to hide the chill. They embrace beneath the covers, their bodies aligning perfectly as they always do. For a few moments longer, they are alone. Soon, the others will return, and Ignis imagines the second bed beside them fit with the two bodies of His Majesty and his Shield, finding comfort and security in one another as he and Prompto do. Two teams rolled into one unit; a Crownsguard with love and devotion at its core. The future may be nebulous, but Ignis believes that, together, the four of them are strong enough to face it. 

Prompto’s fingers dance over Ignis’ cheek. Softly, he says,  “I feel like this feeling could last forever.”

  
  
  
  
  


To Be Continued

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm @taketheblanket on twitter


End file.
